


Aspiring To Equilibrium

by IamShadow21, kath_ballantyne



Series: Indivisible By Two [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brothers, Disability, Disabled Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Fred Lives, Gen, Gift Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mobility Aids, POV Fred Weasley, Paralysis, Permanent Injury, Physical Disability, Post - Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-07
Updated: 2008-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 06:17:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamShadow21/pseuds/IamShadow21, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kath_ballantyne/pseuds/kath_ballantyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after the War, they're still adjusting to the changes in their lives. <i>As it says, two years after One Man's Fate.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Aspiring To Equilibrium

**Author's Note:**

  * For [minisinoo](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=minisinoo).



> Sequel fic to One Man's Fate, my Battle of Hogwarts remix. This story will make much more sense if you read that one.
> 
> Art by Kath-ballantyne.
> 
> For minisinoo. Because no one writes disability!fic like you do, love.

_The Evening Prophet, 23rd June, 2001_

Petition to the Wizengamot #24J76V, put forward by Mr Arthur Weasley (Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office) and Miss Hermione Granger (Department of Magical Law) to amend the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects

...regarding the law Prohibiting the Ownership or Use of Flying Carpets...that this law discriminates against those who are not of able body or who lack the necessary capabilities to fly a broom...

_...many of the people adversely affected by this law are also unable to use the Floo Network, or Apparate with confidence. They are therefore forced to rely upon the kindness of friends and relatives to Side-Along them to medical appointments, social visits, to get their weekly groceries and even to their places of employment. Legalising carpet use in Britain will give these people back their dignity and independence..._

_...this law is an unnecessary one. Its implementation was motivated by racism and desire for monetary gain. Statistics have proven carpets five times safer in day to day use than brooms, despite prominent broomwright companies’ campaigns claiming the opposite..._

...and when put to a vote, the amendment was passed at a count of thirty-nine for, eleven against, two in absentia...

...that from this day forth, all witches and wizards who are aged, infirm or disabled in such a manner that prevents safe broomflight shall be permitted to own and use a personal carpet of no greater dimensions than four (4) feet by two (2) feet. In addition, witches and wizards caring for someone who is aged, infirm or disabled in such a manner that prevents safe broomflight shall be permitted to own and use a family carpet of no greater dimensions than six (6) feet by four (4) feet for the express purpose of assisting the incapacitated person...

***

Fred watched closely as George levitated the furniture back a few inches, leaned down and unrolled the carpet in the recently cleared space. Fred let out an appreciative whistle.

“Brilliant,” he breathed.

“Expensive,” corrected George. “You had to want one that was custom made, didn’t you?”

Fred ignored his twin’s exasperated tone and twiddled the little dial on his Hover Chair to allow him to examine the carpet close up. A flick of a switch, and the main body of the chair lowered almost to floor level, before Transfiguring into a thick cushion. He absently folded his limp lower limbs down comfortably, so that he could lean forward and run his hands over the deep, richly coloured pile.

“I don’t care,” he murmured. “This...this is _incredible_.”

George watched fondly as Fred traced the design with his fingertips, his face alight with excitement. 

Over two years had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts; two years of hospitals, potions, physiotherapy, despair and elation. Fred’s injury hadn’t left him completely paralysed. He still had touch sensation below the waist, and wasn’t incontinent except in times of severe fatigue or when he couldn’t get to the toilet fast enough. He was also lucky to be ‘fully functional’; something he took great delight in informing George of mere hours after the Healers had reduced his pain potions and removed the Immobilising Charm.

“So relieved to hear it,” George had drawled, sarcastically. “All these long weeks, I’ve been fretting about whether you’d be able to get it up anymore. Now you just have to find some daft bird with no taste who’ll fall for your lousy pick-up lines.”

Fred had smirked and leaned in to confide, “Don’t worry, Saint George. I’ll get her legless, first.”

George had punched him on the arm, hard. Fred had protested loudly about him ‘beating up a cripple’, and the disapproving nurse had promptly thrown George out. Fred’s laughter had chased George out the door, with a request tacked on to bring him back some Chocolate Frogs and a copy of _Girls on Brooms!_

Fred’s main problem was muscle weakness. His legs just weren’t strong enough to hold him up. He’d been on crutches for a while, with braces for support, but he’d found them incredibly awkward to move around in, and working at the shop was almost impossible unless he stayed behind the till, which he wouldn’t settle for. He ran into shelves, knocked things over and couldn’t use his wand unless he sat down or propped himself against a wall. As the weeks went by, his frustration increased and his mood darkened, until the slightest misstep could send him into a storm of rage. 

Eventually, things came to a head. Fred’s crutch caught against a display one evening, just after close. Already exhausted from hauling his unwieldy body about all day, Fred couldn’t stop himself from falling. He lay on the floor, amidst the wreckage of the damaged merchandise, clutching his injured wrist and sobbing uncontrollably while George tried desperately to comfort him. 

The next day, Fred went against his physiotherapist’s advice and ordered the Hover Chair. He could manoeuvre it with a touch, it was barely wider than his body, so he didn’t continually catch it on things, and his wand hand was always free. The only time he’d worn the braces since had been for Ginny and Dean’s wedding photographs.

Fred planted his hands on the floor, lifted himself off the cushion, and shuffled his body backwards, dragging his legs, until he was sitting square in the middle of his new rug. He didn’t activate the Charm to make it rise from the ground. He just sat there for a long moment, his fingers caressing the red, gold and orange phoenix-in-flame on black he’d chosen without hesitation from the catalogue.

  


“I’m going to fly again, Georgie,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

George sat down behind Fred and gently wrapped his arms about him, pulling him back so that Fred’s head rested against his shoulder. “That you are,” he said softly.

“Has the big one arrived yet?”

“Next week,” George said, shaking his head. “Because the shop logo’s a unique design, it takes a little longer to make.” 

Fred nodded, and settled a little more comfortably, his fingers interlacing with George’s. Their chests rose and fell in synch with each breath, and George wondered idly if their hearts beat in time, too.

“So, are you going to take it out tonight?” George asked, after a long, comfortable silence.

“Why?” Fred asked with a smirk. “You and Lee want me out of the way? I know he’s in London this week.”

“Er...no,” George admitted. “I told him we were busy.”

Fred tutted. “When was the last time you got laid? Do you even remember?”

“It’s not important,” George mumbled, blushing.

“It bloody well is!” Fred disagreed. “You’re practically a virgin again, it’s been so long. And you’re doing it because of _me!_ Do you know how much that pisses me off?” Though Fred’s voice was angry, his hand was squeezing George’s tightly. He took two harsh, quick breaths, in and out, as though gearing up to shout, then said, softly, “Just stop it, okay?”

George nodded, burying his face in his twin’s hair. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don’t apologise,” Fred corrected. “Just owl Lee and go get your leg over. Or under. Or whatever it is you get up to.” He waggled a finger. “If you don’t, I shall know.”

“But what about you?”

“Never you mind about me,” Fred said, with a self satisfied smile. “I can make my own fun.”

“Just not in the kitchen, alright? I have to eat in there,” George asked, in a tone of mock-despair.

“Just for that, I’m going to use one of your socks, and put it back in the drawer afterwards,” Fred retorted, as he slid back over to the chair.

***

It was late that night, and Fred was alone.

Right now, Fred knew, George was in a room above the Leaky Cauldron, crying out and holding on tightly as Lee thrust deep inside him. He wasn’t jealous. It felt _right_ , somehow, as though the balance between he and his twin was being corrected a little, tonight. George had given up so much of his own life to take care of him during his rehabilitation that he seemed to have forgotten he was _allowed_ to want for himself.

Fred had felt something of his own character slipping away, too – his sense of independence. It had frightened him a few weeks ago when he realised just how home-bound he’d become, how reliant on those around him. It wouldn’t do.

Though he felt fear forming a solid lump in his throat, he dismissed it. He hadn’t come this far, fought so hard, to accept failure before he began.

“Up,” Fred said firmly.

As the carpet swooped into the air and the ground dropped away, Fred embraced his terror and laughed.


End file.
